Blind
by mychemicalbitchbot
Summary: Magnus had heard that love was blind. However, he didn't expect it to be meant like this. He should have noticed Alec losing control. He should have known that something was wrong. Malec.
1. Chapter 1 The Beginning

**Song of inspiration: Jenny Was A Friend of Mine, The Killers**

**Note. This takes place before CoLS, and it goes into the book eventually. It is a multi-chapter, so be sure to tune in for more.**

**Ah, Beta'd by TechnicolorZebra!**

**WARNINGS: Sexual Content, Non-con, torture of various themes. Not for someone who triggers easily. **

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"Hope is a waking dream," -Aristotle

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The first time it happened caught Alec completely off guard. He was exhausted, his eyes heavy and content to move like his lids were made of sandpaper, but still two or three hours away from finishing his patrol for the day.

He had hardly even gotten used to the idea that Jace was missing, much less that he was devoting all of his time to looking for the shadowhunter. He had been missing for just two days, gone with Sebastian's body, and his workload had increased sevenfold because of it. Two days filled with worry and so much patrolling Alec would worry about the state of his abused feet if he wasn't so damn _tired _all the time since it had happened. His stride was slightly hopeful, but otherwise empty as he made his way past the windows and streets of New York he had known for nearly all of his life. He had this sense of purpose, a tether to keep him to the gum-speckled cement, but it was fading to a tired hollowing of his body and heart that always followed the utter exhaustion he'd been experiencing for the last day.

Looking back, it wasn't actually all that bad, the first time. It was like a sample, a test, simple, not too extravagant, but it was still among one of the worst times due to the helpless feeling of _not knowing. _It was a moment he would loathe for the rest of his existence, whatever that ultimately amounted to. It was the beginning of all of this stupidity, this nonsense, the lying, the reawakening of the self hate that had been quietly festering inside of him. It had started with an unknown hand on his shoulder, pulling him back into a blur of motion his starched eyes could barely track and into a dim place he didn't recognize, his bow clacking to the ground outside of the place Alec would soon find to be more than slightly unpleasant.

But recognition wasn't overly important as he thrashed out, confused and uncertain and _threatened, _only to find himself pinned under Sebastian-no, Jonathan- immobile for a dazed moment. He remained frozen for a quick second as his slow and fried brain tried to process, before doubling his efforts towards _maiming that fucker, _escape be damned. This shit had killed his brother.

The small struggle, if the futile attempts could even be called that, ended with Alec winded on the cold cement floor, a small, but no less efficient, blade just inches from the underside of his chin. He was completely overtaken, breathless and dominated, at Jonathan's mercy-or lack thereof.

As his chest began to accept air once again, he gasped out, his mouth flopping for air like a fish dying from being out of water for too long. He managed to ask in a strained voice why he was there. Then, where Jace was. As he regained his breath, still stuck underneath Jonathan, he asked questions like he'd never done before. But Jace had never been missing before-well, not like this. So his mouth took on its own life because he just _had to know if his brother was safe._

_Where were they? What the hell had the demon-blooded shadowhunter abomination done with Alec's Parabatai? What was he going to do to Alec? What was happening, angel damn it?_

He was met with a smile and a spat 'call me Sebastian,' which Alec met with firm opposition and was smacked for. But he didn't want to disgrace the dead shadowhunter, Verlac, though it might have been an odd thing for his mind to strike up at the time.

It took less than a minute, however, for Alec to realize he might need those stray thoughts, to keep his mind away, as if it would ever do that. He was a shadowhunter; he wasn't supposed to flee. The smack wasn't the only pain he'd be receiving, which took some time to understand. When firm hands hauled him up off the cold floor he gratefully couldn't feel too much through his gear, and shoved him against a slightly inclined wall, his wrists quickly being bound into frigid metal cuffs of a type he wasn't familiar with, that in itself making him weary as fear sickened his stomach with thoughts that he'd never get away, thoughts that he'd never get away _from,_ that would be stuck in this torture endlessly with him and Jonathan, he wanted to run.

He was afraid of the screams he had managed to keep in control as a blade slicked across his skin, digging in and parting the seas of flesh as if it were the Red Sea. His breathing was erratic as Jonathan cut into his pale skin, the demon-blooded creature smiling in satisfaction as he left very real tracing of the runes Alec already had on the boy's arms, dark red and slick with seeping blood. It was all Alec could do not to scream, and sometimes he couldn't help but let a yell rip from his lips, as dirty of a taste as it left on his tongue.

Angel-descended blood ran down the dark grey wall, though in the dim light its drying form looked as hellish as Jonathan's undoubtedly was. When it got too thick, and Alec's vision had begun to blur as the lines cut deeper, bleeding more, Jonathan roughly wiped away some of the mess from Alec's arm so that the fading runes were less difficult to see. Alec listened, though clenched teeth and a fogging mind, focusing on the horrible words instead of his own body and its pains, trying to forget the useless thing, his pitifully begging eyes pleading with the demonic creature as the tale of why he was even here was told. What good exactly _did _he do the man whose hair used to be dyed dark, but was now reverted to its natural platinum, what was he worth?

Nothing, almost nothing, it seemed. Jonathan told Alec, in the way that villains often do, just how bitter the world had made him and what he had planned, more or less, to exact his own private revenge. Alec was a sort of prize, though the shadowhunter didn't quite know what he meant at the time. He was a taunt to dangle in front of the Clave, a silent unnoticed one-up for Jonathan's own distorted pleasure and Alec's expense. Jonathan promised to do things to the angel-blooded male that would never be forgotten. _It's not like they'll really care about the fag if they find out, _the rogue had smirked. And Alec found himself, looking back, agreeing, no matter how much it twisted his heart. They wouldn't care. He wouldn't be reproducing for them, and was nearly useless. Not even as good a shadowhunter as his younger sister, let alone _Jace._

Alec didn't fully get it at the time, with his head in disarray from all the thoughts that cotton was shoving its way in front of to block out all ideas and the cool blade against his skin.

Those two hours felt like an eternity, too long to be simply what they were, too real to be a dream but too horrific to even be one of his nightmares. He hadn't been getting enough sleep to even _have _a nightmare. His runes were carved in, carefully, all up both of his arms. No new scars if he didn't bleed out, which had seemed likely and not entirely unwelcome at the time.

Then Jonathan lifted up his tight dark shirt with slight padding, and Alec began to panic-_not more, please, not more_-, praying to every angel he knew the name of that it would all just end there. That he'd be done, in one way or another. A stele flicked upwards in Jonathan's calloused hand, then connecting with his skin, just over his left ribs, and he could feel the hot burn of a rune being drawn against him in the chilling room.

Even as his shirt was let go of and flopped down, he could still feel a slight heat coming from the rune as it hid behind his gear. But it didn't concern him as much as it should have, especially not with that much blood dripping out of him in vast quantities. The stele then found its way to blood-slicked skin, and Jonathan marked an _iratze _on each arm to stop the flowing blood. It healed over the scar that had formed, lending Alec only the memory of having his skin ripped into like an artist going at their canvas and the cold feeling of losing blood.

It left a singe, a terror, in his mind, but nowhere else as anything that could resemble a scar faded into the ones left by previous runes drawn on used shadowhunter skin. Alec then found himself uncuffed, and before he could recover and fucking _kill _Jonathan he was pushed, stumbling, back into the street he'd been patrolling what seemed like lifetimes ago, his bow on the stretch of ground in front of him, where it had been left.

He was confused, panicking and more than a little scared. He hadn't gotten enough answers. He'd hardly gotten any at _all._ All that he learned was that Jonathan was fucked in the head, not that it wasn't already a given, and could appear out of nowhere-something he needed to tell the Clave. He'd found Jonathan, maybe that was worth something, even if he couldn't find Valentine's son again.

Working his way through roundabout city streets and back to the institute, Alec ran off adrenaline, irritably waiting for Church to slowly lead him to Maryse. She was the only adult Clave member at the institute right now, not patrolling, besides himself. She needed to _know. _They all did. The cat did, eventually, get him to his mother, much to Alec's relief.

The desk Maryse sat behind seemed to separate them too much as Alec scooted closer, his thankfully still functioning body seeking out her warmth. He needed to tell her. He needed to tell her _now. _They were all in such danger, really, it was ridiculous. If Jonathan could just appear... What if he'd taken Izzy? Or Magnus? Dare Alec, think it, _Clary? _He _really _needed to tell her, so that everyone would know and they could figure out how to protect themselves.

But when he opened his mouth to tell her, he found himself babbling about the weather and meaning it, getting sidetracked and talking around the subject, everything he wanted to say replaced by a comment on how _grey _it was that day or how he wished it were just a little bit _warmer. _Small talk, nothing of any value to him or her. He found her becoming less and less amused, not that she had been to begin with, but soon she was yelling at him to _get out, you still have another hour of looking for your brother, _and nothing he was trying to say was being said. Just useless things about cumulus clouds. Exasperated, with exhaustion creeping up on him, Alec pulled up his shirt and just _hoped _that it would work.

She couldn't see it, the thick black swirling lines drawn over his left ribs that he couldn't quite identify. But as it clicked into place, he realized, of _course _she couldn't see it. The rune itself was probably forbidden, old and mostly forgotten.

She couldn't see it, and he couldn't talk about it.

It was all he could do to stop himself from doubting his sanity with a curse like that etched into his skin. With a rune only he could see, a tale he could never speak, was what made it an illusion and yet so opaque. Everything about it was only real to him. It was a rune of silence, condemning him to secrecy. This was his, his curse to handle alone and unspoken of. He was so, so screwed.

It made him so uncertain. He pulled his shirt back on and left the Institute, as Maryse demanded, and he found himself struggling over the city, his dead nerves set aflame post-mortem, desperately trying, but faltering too often to connect to reality. All he could feel was hopelessness and fear as he dragged his phone out of one of the pouches on his belt, and took a moment to call Isabelle before he picked back up on his patrol route, a glance over his shoulder as he made sure there wasn't a Jonathan there to leap out and dig blades and horrible runes into his skin.

It was just him, his glamour and stragglers in the darkening night illuminated by the sick glow of city lights neglected once too many. He grew, steadily, with the occasional roar of desperation, more worried as her phone rang out with no reply, no pick-up. What if she was tied to the strange cement room that could appear out of nowhere, in the same position Alec had been in less than a half hour ago? She must have been scared out of her wits, at the mercy of the man she couldn't stop from killing her youngest brother. She must have-

"Alec? Why are you calling me? Did you find him?" The eagerness was plain in her voice, though it was muddled with tiredness, even if she'd only been on her shift for seven hours at that point. She didn't sound like she'd been hurt in any way, besides maybe the usual patrol thing that Alec trusted her to handle, even if it made him worry a little bit. No Jonathan. She was safe, at least for the time being.

Alec could feel some of the tension leave his stiff body as he explained that no, Jace hadn't been found, he was just checking in because it was nearing the end of his shift. He felt the overwhelming urge to see her, just to make sure, to check, but he held it back, settling for an essentially useless conversation to her, but one that meant the whole shattering world to him at the time. He would come to miss little conversations like this.

As he kept on his designated streets, which was basically half of New York City, he passed men and women with tin cans and rags for clothing, hopeful and sometimes sunken eyes, but his mind wandered to Magnus. Not in any relation to the beggars who would just shoot his money up their arms, but because he was worried and he needed to think about something other than what had happened, and that maybe, just _maybe, _he was going nuts, and he liked thinking about Magnus. It was... settling. And after the... Jonathan thing, as he decided to call it in his head, he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to the Institute where Maryse would be at the end of her rope for him. Besides, he wanted to be with Magnus, have himself wrapped up in his warlock, a warm and _loving _body holding him tight. Maybe Magnus would be able to see the rune, though he doubted it. Angel, he just wished he could _tell _someone. How dangerous it all was.

Jace and Jonathan weren't necessarily together, at least not that he'd seen, unless Jace had hidden away in the shadows or was off somewhere else, locked up behind partying metal bars dancing to different beats. Which was possible, not that he'd like to think about it. So he thought about the good times with Magnus, as they were less about shadowhunting than the rest of the good memories with his family. The warlock had done so much for him, and was back at his flat, trying to decipher a lost language and just _help, _free of charge. He thought about how awkward their first kiss was, how scared he'd been. He thought about their first public date and how nervous he was. He thought about idly watching television with the warlock, trying to conjure up the best of times. It worked, mostly.

Despite the institute being his home for nearly his whole life and his entire shadowhunting career, when he was finally done with his sixteen hours of patrols, exhausted in every disgustingly pathetic meaning of the word, he found his weary feet leading him to the flat he had only recently gotten a key to. Back to the man who introduced him to, and kept him interested, in a love more than merely platonic or built upon the foundations of the most carefully reckless measure. He found himself back with the warlock, who couldn't see the rune, who was nearly as tired from his research as Alec was, but still fucked the shadowhunter's strained body when he begged for it because the blue-eyed man needed, in one of his too-often moments of weakness, to be sure that _something _was tangible, real, before falling asleep for his allotted seven hours, then he had to get up for yet another grueling patrol that had just started whistling a new, more dangerous, tune.

The warlock raised an eyebrow as Alec began to talk about the weather on accident while trying to explain about Jonathan, likely assuming it was the lack of rest. Alec wished that Magnus had gotten it, or known something was majorly off, but he couldn't resent the man he loved for it. Alec surely wouldn't have gotten it, and it hurt, stupidly, that everyone was so ignorant when it wasn't even a one-way game of blame.

In the morning after, he was gone again with a shower and a kiss to go with the anxiety that was curling up like a bundle of hateful nerves in his chest, telling Magnus to be careful in a tone that the taller of the two didn't quite understand. But that was okay, as long as Magnus promised, and he did, after a slight hesitation. So Alec took off to his patrol of the Big Apple alone, Isabelle going with Clary as the red head was questioned by the Clave, something Alec couldn't envy her for.

They'd be going over what he'd already heard at their first interrogation, her recollection of what really happened at the lake in Idris, and he doubted it was untrue. Especially not with the Mortal Sword coiled in her grasp and the entire Clave bearing down on her with harsh eyes and lashing criticism that he was nearly familiar with after the past few weeks. Though she probably wouldn't have as much of a problem with it, not with all the attention she always got. Not that Alec wanted that attention to fall on him.

He was on edge throughout that entire day, his bow held tightly in his clenched fist as his knuckles turned white, and an arrow easily accessible at all times. He couldn't frighten away the downworlders who would see him though the day by having his bow ready at all times, but the apprehension clear on his face and arrow-happy twitching fingers probably still succeeded in that aspect. He nearly shot a cat as it crawled through an alleyway, surprising him, only managing to divert his aim at the last second, the head of the marked metal leaving a burn on the green dumpster it hit.

Jonathan didn't come back for him, not that day, letting him stew in his own consuming paranoia. When Alec collapsed into bed with Magnus, after calling his mother to say he wouldn't be coming back for the night, he began to wonder with his overworked brain if maybe he was safe. Maybe he had imagined it all. The only evidence was a rune that only he could see, and a story that he couldn't tell.

He had begun to think that, curled up with his warlock, nothing could touch him. That they'd find Jace and everything would be fine, that it was all just a bad dream that he wouldn't have to relive again. He was so stupid about it, too. He was almost _relaxed_, as much as he could get while patrolling, when he was once again pulled backwards into hell.

He wasn't fast enough with his bow, _stupid_, and it clattered to the ground as Jonathan smashed it away from his too-loose grip, the Lightwood only briefly grateful that the fugitive hadn't snapped the instrument in two. Though it was no easy feat, Alec didn't doubt that Jonathan could have done it, leaving him without his preferred long-range weapon.

Then he was cuffed to the wall again, kicking and hitting as much as he could but mostly just serving to make Jonathan more violent. But it was harder to breathe, harder to see than the last time, as the room clogged up with smoke. There was a sparking fire, just smaller than one of the old school desks they had had at the institute, stuffing up the room and burning away the dreary coloring of the cement floor. It was hotter than last time, but not in a good way, as it plucked at Alec's lungs, jeering at them and laughing as his breathing became shallower as he adjusted to the room.

The dark haze blurred the air, thickening it, but it didn't accumulate, leading Alec to believe that it was escaping to somewhere he couldn't quite locate. He had enough air, though just barely, and Jonathan's grin made his stomach begin to ache with unpleasantness that was more than physical as his mind tried to devour itself, conjuring up all of the worst possibilities and ideas that Alec had never known he could even _think _of. He really wished this wasn't happening.

Alec was shocked as Jonathan's hands went to his belt, but as soon as he kicked out he found himself dizzy and trying to remember exactly what was going on over the pounding in his head. When he finally figured it out, he watched his belt skid across the floor from Jonathan's hand, gone with all of the weapons and possible life lines he wouldn't be able to use with the cuffs anyway. He was stuck, so fucking stuck and _trapped in_ as the traitor pulled his dark pants down to bunch around his ankles, and for a nerve-crumbling moment he feared that his underwear and complete dignity would be following them, along with any pride he still had left.

But to Alec's relief, Jonathan turned away from him, smirking as he walked away from the New Yorker's bare legs, nearing the toxic fire and pulling on what appeared to be a thick grey glove. The platinum-haired boy leaned down to the fire, reaching around the base for something that made Alec's eyes widen in horror as he recognized the orange-red heat that clung to the metal surface that had previously been engulfed in the fire. It was something he had wanted no part of.

_Oh Angel,_ he had thought, hoping it wasn't true. His skin crawled in a futile effort to get away from the heat, from the impending contact that he knew was inevitable with the vengeful madman holding a blazing stick of metal in his hand. Jonathan walked back to him, gaze settled on pale legs that shifted and flexed in an effort to get as far from the scorching heat as they could. _Nonononononononono- _"It'll leave a mark," came his desperate voice, or worse yet, "Please, don't, _please,_" he had begged. Maybe then they'd finally see the truth? The Clave. Maryse. Magnus. See what Jonathan was doing, what he was capable of. Or assume it was always there. Wasn't there something, anything, that could stop it all?

It came nearer to his recoiling flesh, _nononononononononono,_ his useless pleas shoving out every other thought, filtering away anything not related to the pain he was expecting to experience in his buzzing brain, and suddenly his mind went blank as he gasped for air, tears he refused to shed leaping to the corners of his eyes. He'd accidentally set his arm on fire, once, in one of Isabelle's kitchen experiences gone horribly wrong, but that had been quick, a flash of _shitshitshitshitshit_ and then it was over, leaving only a bit of pink skin after an _iratze_ had been drawn over the scabbing wound. It had gone away not too long after, though it always left Alec with a memory of acute pain and a reminder to stay away from the kitchen when Izzy was around. This, though, was nothing like that. It didn't make him think that that pain had been nothing, but Alec's previous scale of pain began to crack, something that would eventually shatter completely.

It didn't go away as he tried to pull away, it didn't stop, just left him gasping for barely-there polluted air as his back arched in an explosion of shocks that lit his head on fire, sending adrenaline through him at twice the useless speed, whiting out his vision.

He would like to have said that he kept quiet, that he didn't scream, but he honestly couldn't remember. He didn't know. He might have been crying out, flailing from his restraints and being a pathetic excuse for a shadowhunter. but he couldn't remember. He went blank, at some point, everything blurring, and let his body shut off his mind with one last whiff of burned flesh and the blazing bar pressed to the inside of his knee, singing the skin, obliterating muscles as it dug into his calf. How could he have thought, for a second, that this wasn't real? When it was literally burning itself into his body? How could his sense of reality become so warped?

Though, as his mind wrapped itself away in some far corner of the Earth, he wondered if he'd wake up. This was a dream, wasn't it? It had to be. The entire idea was ludicrous. It just... couldn't be real. He wasn't this weak. Jonathan wouldn't be focusing on him, the wallflower, like this.

An _iratze_ brought him back to himself, and he realized that Jonathan had let him burn out while the fire was extinguished, only then pushing the rune on him. Then he found himself sitting on the cold, hard ground of a New York alleyway exactly where he'd been picked up. He let his eyes slip closed, only for a moment, with his bow lying next to him and his belt scattered a dumpster away.

He woke up five hours later as his phone buzzed with Magnus's connection. He picked it up and groggily explained that he was late because he got side tracked, or something, but all the warlock really wanted to know was if Alec was safe. It had been another long day, for the both of them, and Alec was relieved to hear the warlock's voice. To know that he cared, even if he didn't know everything, even if Alec couldn't tell them. But then, Magnus had always kept his own secrets under lock and key.

So he made his way up, and eventually got to Magnus's apartment after picking up his battered things. They were both exhausted, and the air was cold but Alec couldn't bring himself to sleep under the warm covers. Instead he put on thicker pajamas, noting that there were hardly marks from the poker. He'd lied to Jonathan, and it hadn't helped.

The memory dug into his mind, and every time he got just a little bit heated his head would spin into a panic with a difficult return to manage unnoticed. He almost wished Magnus would notice, say something, but how was his boyfriend to know? They both had a lot going on, and Magnus was working so hard, unpaid, because Alec had asked him to. So Alec slept, more or less, on Magnus, separated by the covers but Magnus's arm still wrapped around him just enough for comfort.

It was that arm that woke him four hours later so his screaming wouldn't wake the neighbors.

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**Anyone interested?**


	2. Chapter 2 Nescience

**Many thanks to my beta, Twicked, also know as TechicolorZebra. And thank you to all of you who have followed, faved, and especially reviewed, or even given me and my fics a wee bit of attention. Means much to me :D If you all want to be (wonderful) asses you can go send thanks to TechnicolorZebra and flood their inbox. Er... I don't know if they'll kill me. If you did I would love you forever. (Guess who needs to grow up already...)**

**Enjoy!**

"The world is full of many magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper."

-Eden Phillpots

BLIND Chapter 2: Nescience

Magnus figured that it was just the stress getting to Alec. It made sense. After all, Jace was gone, with neither hide nor a single overly-golden hair to be found. Magnus' blue-eyed shadowhunter had already lost one brother to the Morgenstern boy, and the idea of it was probably just sending his head down similar lines, of death and horror and the worst possibilities. Magnus would have been, but he was trying to be a bit more positive about things. There was usually a good side to things.

Especially if he ignored the real issue as tactfully as he was. What could he say; he'd had years of practice.

Oh, he was certainly _thinking _about the situation, and rather diligently, if he might add. He was simply analyzing it in a very objective way, not letting any silver strings of emotion be pulled in unnecessarily, as much as he could help it, what with his boyfriend being _very _emotionally invested in all of this. But just because Alec loved Jace very much did not mean that Magnus shared the sentiment. He wasn't getting involved in this utter _mess. _He'd gotten tangled up in shadowhunter affairs before and that had been a rather draining experience that really hadn't ended very well.

However, his emotional detachment didn't mean he wasn't there when Alec needed him. At the very least, he thought he was, and hell, was he ever. He spent every minute of his spare time trying to decipher a long forgotten language, trying to figure out exactly how Lilith had screwed everything up to the _max. _Demons, he'd tell you with something akin to an eye roll.

Demons, and their fucky-ass languages, were the not-so-great part of the whole arrangement. There was a bit of sex involved. When Alec wanted it, he would gladly put out (but really, who wouldn't, had they ever _seen _the teen?), doing all the things Alec liked and listening to requests that made the warlock smile. Lilith's books, sexy Alec time... It was a frustrating, but overall not too bad a time. He'd certainly had worse, though this wasn't the time to bring all of that up. He'd done all in his power to make his dark-haired lover comfortable while remaining a vague figure when it came to all of those icky _feelings _he could live without. Well, maybe not his feelings for Alec. Because those were kind of awesome.

It wasn't extremely hard, though, moving away from pain and hurt and hate. Alec was doing it, too. Drifting away from the subject, like a toy boat on a strong river current. At least he wasn't getting completely pulled under. But at this point, with all the questions and the surfacing of lies, Magnus could hardly blame Alec for anything, much less for not saying too much about anything. It wasn't, in Magnus's experiences, uncommon for the particularly stoic shadowhunter to become even more silent in times of duress. The day after Jace went missing, and even the night of, he'd been rather blank. He was scared, horrified and angry, at himself and the rest of the fucking world and at fucking Clary, for telling the entire Clave that Jace had _died _without breathing a word to him first. For the Angel's sake he was one of the most important people in Golden Boy's life. Probably the most important, before she came along. But then it all washed over him and Magnus knew from the sad look that Alec was hardly feeling anything more than hollow, because he said he had felt something when Jace died but he hadn't _known. _Did he ever know anything? Alec could, grudgingly, admit that telling the Clave about Jace wasn't a good idea. But he should have been _told, _and then maybe he could have gotten them all out of this shit-wreck, he'd said.

This was Jace, and Jace was Alec's entire world. The only creature inhabiting its lands before Magnus started throwing pebbles. Alec should have _known. _But he was quiet about it, in the way he held himself, like always, but there were some things Magnus just recognized about his behavior. They were familiar, but a twisted familiar. The largest sign, Magnus noted, was just how haggard the pale skinned young adult was, emotionally and physically, and it took a turn for the worse, that he wished they had had more time to spend on, as the week progressed.

Magnus had assumed that everything was as fine as it could be, under the circumstances- he missed, or simply failed to see the importance of the quick glances around the room, to the door, over his shoulder, out the windows. He didn't see the apprehension that came with a shifted up apartment arrangement that couldn't be counted on. He didn't notice the careful measures of his boyfriend's steps that faded almost as quickly as they came, as if overlooked, only to make a comeback a day or two later. He didn't think about Alec wanting him so badly with those secretly pleading eyes and wanting it harder than he usually did. He didn't, honestly, notice anything blatantly unusual besides his shadowhunter's newfound love of talking about the weather that had seemed too uninteresting and utterly commonplace to be mentioned more than once a week or in an awkward conversation. Magnus just kind of hoped that Alec didn't have a secret weather fetish. It wouldn't be a deal breaker, considering some of the people (and non-people) Magnus had dated, but he could always hold on to the idea that there was at least a semblance of normality in Alec.

Alec was probably just trying to keep his mind off of Jace and Sebastian, or whatever his name was, and Magnus fancied that he knew Alec well enough to know what that meant; complete and unmitigated avoidance of topic _número uno. _Alec wouldn't talk about it, in the brief conversations that they had with each other (while their minds were a bit clouded from the lack of sleep, so they weren't the best examples. But hardly anything around here was an example of anything other than a big fat clusterfuck).

Magnus didn't, frankly, know what to think about the screaming. It threw a bit of a wrench in his jolly Alec's-as-good-as-he-can-be ideals. Because Alec was quite obviously not as good as he could be, ideally. Shit was going on in that pretty little head. Magnus had, admittedly, had his partner's scream as they woke up from a nightmare (from him, he'd sometimes joke), but they had never been _Alec. _There had been nightmares popping out of that head in their bed before, sure, ones where he'd shake and bite at his fingers and occasionally mutter, tossing about like a type-A busy body, then wake up agitated and not really wanting to talk about it with a dry, unsavory mouth that sometimes seemed sewn shut. Mostly it was just after Max died and they'd ironed out some of their initial problems, though.

But Magnus had never really heard Alec scream, at least not in that sense. It wasn't a particularly dreadful scream, there was no 'bloody' nor a 'mary' involved, it wasn't specifically loud and it was really more of a glorified shout. But those were just details that no one wanted to hear, because when it came down to it, Magnus responded like it was a full blown scream and Alec was too shaken to correct the behavior.

The bookworm had been acting just a bit off all night. He'd come home late, only after Magnus had called him, with his shoulders tensed and knots so tight Magnus could practically feel a burn radiating off of them. Though the weariness in the way Alec held himself wasn't too astonishing, the seven ice cubes in his soup were. Along with his hesitance to eat the contents of the steaming hot bowl he usually loved. Magnus had never seen Alec like that before. He had a feeling that Alec had never seen _Alec _like that before, as well, but was too caught up in it all to notice too greatly.

He'd never seen Alec flat out refuse to sleep under the giant yellow comforter- it wasn't warm out, it was actually rather chilly, damn it, and it had been a long time since Alec was so... frantic, as grabby. Because he clung to the warlock like a life source through the layers separating them. He didn't want to let go, so Magnus wrapped his arm around his infatuation and tried to stay awake until Alec fell asleep. But his eyes were already drooping shut after a long day as the shadowhunter curled up on him a little bit, just curving his fight-trained body to Magnus's cushy outline. He wanted to make sure the awkward teen got to sleep soundly, and wouldn't stay up all hours of the night thinking things over. It wasn't much Alec's style, but Magnus still worried.

The rhythmic lack of true silence on the outside city streets crept into his ears, lulling him into a state of unconsciousness before Alec's eyes drifted shut to dream of things he would rather forget. They were both so damn tired, though, that Magnus doubted it could have taken too long.

Magnus's eyes first began to protest being awake when he felt knees digging into his ungrateful thigh. It took him a moment to force his rusty old cat eyes open and yet another moment to regain the ability to see a bit in the dark, something that people often assumed his cat-like pupils allowed him to do. He could see the same as everyone else. He could see color, damn it; did he look like he needed help with his wardrobe? Hell no. Not any sassy bitch with waxed eyebrows could get near that thing. He was fucking Magnus Bane (who was, incidentally, fucking Alec Lightwood, who was also incidentally having some sort of dream crisis in their bed).

It took him another short span of time to gather a bit more of an idea of what was going on, what was wrong and why the hell he was awake. Rough, quiet pleas filled his right ear, whimpers and mutters that must have seemed more important in context as the dreaming boy curled up there on top of the warlock. He looked so... off. There were few other words for it, with his knees pulled up and his shivering, well-muscled arms wrapped around his kneecaps.

Magnus was still deciding exactly how to wake him- he'd learned that waking the shadowhunter gently was best, if possible. Magnus snapped to attention as Alec flattened against him, roughly hitting the warlock, no doubt accidentally, but trying to sink into him, face down. Whatever this dream was, Alec wanted no part in it. He was trying to get away from something, and he suddenly stiffened from his writhing motions that were getting out of hand, and his mouth opened and right in his ear Alec shouted out because something was _getting to him._

Magnus had watched for a second, both surprised and struck with that sickly little morbid fascination that resides wickedly in everyone, downworlders and mundanes alike. It was a first for him and Alec; weren't all firsts to be cherished, or something? Though Magnus would hardly call it cherishing. He was upset about it; Alec wasn't supposed to have bad nightmares. That was his job, though it was rare.

Magnus, finally coming back to his senses, decided against the slow and tedious method and simply shook the shadowhunter a bit harshly until he woke up, clear blue eyes open wide and clouded with the impression of something terrible. Magnus watched him, in the dim light that neared nothingness, go for a blade on a belt Alec didn't have secured around his waist, then push Magnus's hands above his head, keeping it there in a daze as he calmed down from whatever surge of panic was feeding this confusion. Magnus waited, lips pursed, for some sort of explanation. When it became clear that he wasn't getting a response unprompted, Magnus took up the initiative.

"Are you okay?" The warlock asked while Alec panted above him. In any other situation, this might have been considered sexy. In the middle of the night and with only just calming eyes, the effect was dulled. Magnus did his best to make things seem alright, normalish, because that's what he would have wanted after something shaking. His words were slow, like honey, comforting, only just tinted with his impatience.

"Sorry," Alec quickly apologized, pulling off of his boyfriend. "I just... Don't want it to rain today."

Magnus wasn't quite sure what to make of that, other than it was entirely inappropriate. "_That's _what you have to say to me? Alec, darling, you just tackled me. I think I deserve an explanation."

"I'll start telling you about my dreams when you tell me more about yours," Alec countered, and it was such a low blow Magnus hardly wanted to acknowledge it. Alec was still on about _that? _Magnus wished that the shadowhunter would just drop it already. His past, their future with the not-aging thing.

Alec pulled his legs off of the bed so that they were falling off the side, and wiped greasy black hair back from his forehead. It was obvious to Magnus that he didn't know what to do with himself. So, letting the jab go, Magnus reached up, wrapping his arms around Alec to keep him safe from himself. Whatever it was, it would get better. They'd find Jace. Magnus's actions weren't completely selfless when he placed a kiss on the back of Alec's neck and worked his way up to the troubled jawbone, and to the worried lips he'd kissed what felt like hundreds of times before.

"C'mon, back to bed," Magnus pulled on Alec's arm. "Maybe we can have a toss between the sheets."

Magnus knew Alec was about to protest, and hardly let him. Another kiss, this one with tongue, less lazy and indulged, more personal. They could do this the easy way, and just get to sleep faster... Alec always fell asleep after. Giving a second or two for non-consent, Magnus found it didn't exist and carried on. It wasn't passionate, not really, it was_almost_impersonal, except for a few choice movements and words, but it was slow, and maybe it did have a timeless feel to it. It wasn't romantic; it was just plain, simple. The depressing mood that Alec reeked of was filling up the room and affecting them, but they didn't really care, they went ahead anyway, and just like Magnus figured, Alec fell asleep just after. It hadn't been about the sex, and Magnus was fine with that. He hoped that sex wouldn't become their only way of communication, though, because that never worked. It broke everything, and Magnus didn't want this to break.

He'd have to ask Alec again, maybe tomorrow, what exactly had happened. Or maybe he'd just never know. That was how many things in his life had ended; in mystery. But it was probably just the worry eating away at Alec. What else could there be? There couldn't be anything else; they were already dealing with too much. They'd be okay. At least, he hoped that much. If only he _knew._

* * *

The next day wasn't an interesting one. Alec called and told him that he wouldn't be coming home that evening (or late night), which was just _ugh, _even if Alec was overly apologetic about it (and might have muttered something about harsh winds. Sometimes, Magnus thought with mild disdain, that boy just needed to focus) and a bit off from usual. Probably tired. Luke also called earlier in the day (well, his second in command did, but same difference. It only ruined their relationship a bit) to tell him that one of his pack had disappeared that morning, let them know if he found something, etc., etc. Magnus knew the deal. He'd been around the block, in more ways than one, in his slightly extensive time on the Earth. That and overlooking a language he had yet to get even a millimeter closer to learning. Fucking ancient magic, and even with all of the rather large and more often than not rather old books accumulating on his desk to reference, he was hardly getting closer to understanding that shit.

It wasn't a very good day, to be honest. It was just one of many, the previous five not having gone exceedingly well, ever since that attention whore Jace went missing. Stupid shadowhunters. But he'd get to see Alec the next day, and that was okay. Made all of this shitty work worth it. Though the boy seemed to be having problems lately, Magnus liked having him around. It made things easier, gave them a sort of slower, yet more important pace. He liked to think he could call it 'sanity,' though they were probably anything but. Seeing his blue eyed baby managed to lift up his spirits, even if right now_sucked._

Seeing Alec the next day _was _great, and there was sex but Alec wasn't too hesitant to crawl under the blankets. He was okay with Magnus's arms around him, and admitted that it was just the stress of Jace being gone that was getting to him. Alec could tell him things. God, he was so in love with the boy. Not the Camille brand of love, which was an entirely different enterprise, intense and amazing while it lasted but destined, as always, to burn out quickly. The vampiress' lack of commitment certainly helped with that.

Magnus wasn't exactly sure what it was or even _why,_but whatever he had started with Alec felt older than it should have for the time that they had known each other. There were still many things they didn't know about each other, but Magnus only had to censor half of what he said. He wanted to learn Alec as best as he could. He wanted this to last, and hell, he wanted to call it love. He had called it love, they both had, but not like _that. _There was the love they had felt at the time, that Magnus had felt at the time, then there was this, and it was a build up, an extension, an added weight to it all that didn't feel heavy at all.

Magnus had thought he was in love countless times before. But he'd never _known. _Not like this. Maybe it was only temporary, but he hoped not. He wasn't going to tell Alec all of this, more than the necessary 'I love you,' it would only stress the shadowhunter further, but he did hold an idea in his weary heart of telling his part-angel some day. That he thought this was more than any other love he'd ever felt. Though it sometimes felt like it, curled up together, they didn't have all of the time in the world, and Magnus was determined to make that time last.


	3. Chapter 3 Split Ends

**Thank my beta for the wonderfulness... They helped me along with some mistakes and awkward things. And thanks to you guys, as well, for tuning in. **

**I've been flamed a** **bit for the ending of Restless Heart Syndrome, so let me just put in a slight spoiler for this one; it has a better, stronger ending. Or, it should. But I'm sort of notorious for bad endings. Have a nice day!  
**

**Oh, we also have a new cover because I was bored and too lazy to write. LOVE IT. I command thou.**

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"Conscience, as I understand it, is the impulse to do the right thing because it is right, regardless of personal ends, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the ability to distinguish between right and wrong." -Margaret Collier Graham

* * *

Alec hated the nightmare that Magnus had awoken him from. It was a situation he was becoming used to, hating things, with himself tied up and at the mercy of Jonathan Morgenstern twice in the previous three days. It was how the nightmare had went, predictably enough. He was in that cold concrete room, fastened to the sloped wall, and he was terrified. He couldn't remember exactly what had been done, but it was _awful_. He had begged and pleaded and bargained, but it was all for naught, just like it always was. His words were useless and the platinum-headed fugitive had come at him anyway.

He had screamed because it hurt and it _wouldn't stop. _It felt like he was having a seizure or something, his entire body pounding and shaking with little control. Even when his eyes snapped open, he was still there for a second, just trying to make the pain stop. Then Jonathan became Magnus and Alec hardly knew how to deal with it all. He wanted to tell Magnus, but all he'd be able to say would be weather-related. He'd begun to dislike the weather. The sky and its moods could go fuck itself.

Alec had kept secrets before, like the bottle of whiskey that went missing the year before, and contrary to what everyone thought, he wasn't horrible at it. He might have been, had people dug further, but they never did. He knew how to keep out of the limelight. But he'd never had to keep a secret like this, one that was always sitting at the back of his throat, laying his tongue with slick oil that the truth kept slipping on, trying to get out from. His head spun with ways to try and communicate what he was trying to say, but it didn't happen. No one dug deep enough into his strange behavior. He wasn't Jace, so it wasn't a dramatic change that had to be fussed over at every turn (because, face it, Alec would be the one doing all of the fussing).

It wasn't as though Alec had never kept secrets he'd wanted others to know. He had wanted people to know that he was gay, but he couldn't say anything because there was too much fear holding him back. It had been a secret, but not really a problem. Not like this. This was a new category of secret for him, and one he wished he hadn't been faced with. At least it wasn't Izzy who got it, understood, with her odd way of just _knowing. _He wouldn't want her to know first, he'd prefer his mom, or maybe even Magnus. He didn't want to seem too weak in front of his little sister, or anyone, for that matter.

Secrets weren't supposed to physically hurt him, like Jonathan did, and hide the evidence. At least when he was hit when he was younger his mother was upfront about it, and it was a means of punishment. It wasn't a secret if everyone knew, if everyone could see the marks. It stopped just before Isabelle was old enough to realize what was happening, as the stress of Valentine dying and the Clave's wrath became less harsh and the punishments with it. Those hits weren't a secret, and they didn't hurt anyone. They didn't prevent him from keeping anyone safe, because at the time, he hadn't had anyone to keep safe. He was on his own.

He wished there was something he could do other than let Magnus rock into him, both of their heads not completely there. Magnus was worried about the nightmare, Alec could tell, even if his own head was still trapped away in the unreachable hell of a cement room he'd become accustomed to.

A room that he didn't ever want to visit again if he could help it. Little did he know that he'd be making a forced appearance there again that evening, after he kissed Magnus goodbye and as soon as the weariness of working began to set in yet again.

The third time Jonathan stole Alec from the real world was horrible. Not in the usual horrible way, because Jonathan seemed determined to up his game with every visit. Angel, he almost wished for Jonathan's normal brand of crazy. Fuck. He'd began to think of what Jonathan was doing as 'normal.' But this wasn't 'normal,' this was awful, torturous, and completely vile in its own way. And Jonathan didn't even have to touch him. It almost made Alec glad he couldn't talk about these abductions to anyone, because he was ashamed that he'd done them. That he and them existed together in the same sentence.

He'd fought against it a bit, but he was tired and he'd lost a substantial amount of blood just three days before when his runes were traced down with an unforgiving blade. But despite his efforts, which were more desperate, and less effective, than the first day, he was still overpowered. He was thrown into a silver cage that hadn't been there yesterday with just his belt full of blades. His stele had been snatched from him, and Jonathan seemed to be getting smoother at stealing away his bow as they met more often.

He didn't know what was going on. But then, did he ever? He fought a sigh, stiffening his body and letting his senses tell him about his surroundings. He had to be prepared for whatever was going to happen, but he knew it wouldn't be good. It never was.

He slowly and deliberately surveyed his setting, trying to decipher exactly what might be close in his future. The cage he was in glinted in a flickering firelight that came from a bronze brazier on the wall he'd never noticed before. The cage was octagonal, the side Alec just pushed through equipped with a glinting chain lock. It couldn't have been more than five paces across the thing, and the chain link fence surrounding it must have been gilded the argent tone or it would have cost more money than Alec had seen in his life. It wasn't raised, just set on the dull gray floor speckled with off-colored spots.

Alec wasn't the only person in there, however. As his eyes took inventory of the space in front of him, he saw a terrified face pretending to be brave near the opposite side of the cage, a couple of steps away. Alarm was in the boy's eyes, and his stance was nearly as tense as Alec's though not quite as practiced. There was a scar reaching down the left side of his face, a thick blade maybe, and his dark eyes were alight with running adrenaline. He'd been in a fight before, and he was certainly looking as though he felt threatened.

Alec gave a stiff nod to the other boy, who couldn't be much younger than himself, but made no comment. He had a horrible suspicion about what was going to happen next, and he turned his body so he could see Jonathan and the mystery teen at the same time. He was ready for an attack from the boy, and even if they were separated by a thin wall of metal Alec couldn't believe he was safe from the madman.

Jonathan walked over to a chair that held something Alec couldn't see and picked it up, turning back and walking closer to the cage with an unnerving smile biting at his lips.

"Only one of you leaves," Jonathan stated, and Alec felt his stomach churning, not for the first time in the previous weeks. "You get an hour to kill each other. If you aren't both dead by then I will kill you both. Clear?"

"Cage fighting is illegal," Alec answered, while the boy just behind him gasped. "It hasn't been allowed in nearly a hundred and fifty years. It is a serious offense in the eyes of the Clave."

"The eyes of the Clave matter little to me, stupid shadowhunter," Jonathan scoffed. "This will hardly change how they see me, anyway."

Alec scowled. "No, you can't just-"

"Can't what? You have been at my complete mercy for days now." Jonathan smirked. "I could kill you easily, and you know it."

Alec swallowed, biting on his lip. Jonathan had killed Max, and this was a reminder. He'd killed a defenseless, innocent young boy. There was no doubt in Alec's mind that if he didn't kill the teenager in the cage with him, he'd end up with his guts as the new wallpaper for the room.

"You wouldn't!" The other boy exclaimed. "The pack would kill you!"

Jonathan smiled as Alec realized that the boy he was locked in the cage with was a werewolf. The accords were just strengthening, too. To have a shadowhunter and a werewolf fight to the death...they were fucked.

"I do not fear my own kind. I see little reason to fear yours," Jonathan shrugged, then pulled up a dully colored piece of mechanical equipment. "Now do a good job. Smile. You're on camera." Jonathan pulled out the screen attached tot he recording device and switched a little button, a green light appearing at the top. "And... Go!"

It took Alec until he'd slammed the werewolf against the cage wall and the creature screamed in protest to realize that their corral was lined with silver. He was supposed to win, what fun would he be for Jonathan if he didn't? He was going to kill the child of the moon whether he wanted to or not. It was irrelevant to Jonathan if he was breaking Clave law. He'd disregarded _Sed lex dura lex (1._ Jonathan was never going to be a true shadowhunter again.

* * *

Alec couldn't see Magnus, not after that. He just couldn't.

He hadn't been healed up with a rune like he had been in the past, and he wished that Jonathan had had to swirl the mark onto his flesh. But he had gotten no injury worse than a bruise or two. They would be gone soon enough anyway, and it wasn't as if he could talk about how he got them. He'd end up talking about the fucking rain clouds or something equally stupid. He just drew a rune on because he didn't want to have to see them. He didn't want to think about it.

He didn't want to think about what they meant. That they shouldn't be there, that instead he should have been ripped up by the werewolf. Then, at least, all of it would go away. But he didn't want to think like that, and steered himself away from those thoughts. He had taken the final blow and ended it, and that was never going to change. The illegality of it wouldn't change, either, as the Clave wanted to build good relationships with the downworlders they had abused for so long. This was almost worse than not uttering Jonathan's threat to the Clave, in an incomparable way.

He had killed a downworlder with hardly any just cause. At least, according to the camera that didn't catch Jonathan's threat, just two people flying at each other in an effort to kill. The Clave would favor the downworlder, because of the bridges being built, and claim that if the werewolf was attacking him he should have just restrained the beast. It would be his fault, because he was an adult, a shadowhunter, and maybe a part in it would be that he was _gay. _He would be swept under the rug, and he kind of deserved it. It was almost like he'd killed Luke, who he admittedly hardly knew, or fuck, killing _Magnus. _He'd felt the blood stick to his hands, staining them in that unforgiving way that blood had about itself.

He couldn't think about it every time he looked at his warlock- slow, burned out eyes and blood spilling all over his chest. He called him, before the sun set, and told him that he wouldn't be making it home that evening. He apologized, not for his absence. He apologized for the downworlder he had killed, because he couldn't say anything else without sounding like an utter fool. He probably still did, but he wanted someone to know that he was sorry, even if they didn't know what for.

He went back to the institute as his shift ended, washing out some of the blood from his gear before throwing it in the washing machine to be cleaned. He was lucky, in a way, that it was so hard to see blood stains on black cloth. No one was around, they were recounting Clary's tales or finishing up paperwork or sleeping. He could sleep, let himself shut down and hopefully be somewhere _protected_. Though Jonathan never bothered him when he was at Magnus's, he still felt safer back at the Institute he'd grown up in. They were both layered with thick protection magic or runes. It was probably worse at the Institute, because Jonathan could walk right in undetected. But it felt safer, even with its long empty halls. It reminded him of Jace.

Dressed up only in his boxers he tried not to think about the first non-demon's life he'd taken. He wanted to sleep, he was exhausted. But he'd lie on the bed, and images of the werewolf would slip into his mind. The fear on the werewolf's face as he lost his drive to death's harsh hand. Alec took a cold shower then, and even with blue lips and goose-bumps on all of his skin he had trouble forgetting it to himself. It just made everything horribly clearer, too defined, too real.

In the end Alec collapsed onto the bed, his eyes thick and his body heavy as he stared at the ceiling. He probably fell asleep, because when he opened his eyes next it was to a blaring alarm clock he could hardly remember setting the night before.

He was tired, and he had work to do, but it wasn't as if any of that was anything new.

He was on edge, as much as he could be, and went back to Magnus after his long day of never-ending patrolling and searching was over. He knew he had to find Jace, but it was hard with the ever-present threat of Jonathan looming. Jonathan, who he was also supposed to be finding. He'd been found instead, and was paying the price.

Alec was nervous, but his head and his limbs weren't acting on the same pages of the script, their overlapping dialogues telling different stories. His brain was overloading, becoming paranoid at every single off-from-the-crowd footstep, while he wasn't physically the best he could be. He was weak, too open to attack to win against Jonathan. Maybe he'd get a demon, if he used his bow, but he was slow.

Four days of sixteen hour days, sometimes only fourteen, was what he had been scheduled for. The draining of his confidence and the ghost of hurt that lingered just behind his eyes wasn't accounted in that mix, either. He wasn't looking forward to the days to come. He didn't want to know what was going to happen, he didn't want to be there when it did. He felt like he wanted to curl up on a soft mattress and never wake up. Maybe Magnus would even lie with him as the world passed them by... If only he didn't have a sister to protect and a brother to find. A life to live. He wished it were possible, in a wistful moment. If only he could be happy, if only everything were alright again. Even if that had only been all of ten minutes.

Hours still passed, laced with exhaustion. His back was stiff from the stress, a constant ache on the right side base of his neck that he should ask Magnus to help him with. He' wasn't really particularly comfortable with massages, but he was getting used to them, and they were nice when used for relieving aches like that. He got a massage from Magnus that night, but it wasn't the only thing he got. Magnus made some jokes about how much Alec had been talking about the weather lately, and Alec snapped at him a bit. When they went to sleep, the bed was colder. Alec knew that he would welcome the heat, then, if it came from Magnus. Though he was still a bit upset, he had more days of searching to get through. He couldn't snap at Magnus; he wanted them to last, this to last, whatever it was. Dating would be a good word, but it was almost more than that. It was his first step into his skin, his first try at really being himself. He'd have to have more patience. It wasn't Magnus's fault. He'd go to the warlock tomorrow and face his mistakes, or at least he'd lie because he couldn't do much else.

* * *

His feet were on fire. His legs weren't much better, the heat only slowly lessening the higher up the nerves were. Steam wet whatever clothes he was still wearing, because his shoes and pants were gone, and sweat clung to his body as he tried to move his feet out of the water without splashing it on his legs. The temperature was rising, the fire burning beneath the pot he was standing in getting hotter and hotter.

Jonathan was laughing at him, at the way his legs were tied down so he couldn't pull them out of the water that was coming to a boil, at the way the entirety of his body was beginning to resemble a lobster in color. He wanted it to stop. Fuck, he'd never be able to take a bath again. Why the fuck was Jonathan doing this? It wasn't like he looked like he particularly enjoyed it, besides the laughter. Alec had known he was fucked in the head, but before that week he hadn't imagined it to be that extreme. He _played _with his food.

Being boiled alive wasn't a very pleasant experience, needless to say. There was the inescapable steam, which coated the inside of the nostrils and didn't go away, setting in the ears, and there was the sweat that coated his overheating body just desperate to cool down. Then there was the undeniably uncomfortable feeling of being burned alive. And not like fire, or heated metal. It wasn't singing, it wasn't a flash and a burn. It was a continuous, slow and excruciating process that made Alec want to lose all hope. Jonathan wouldn't kill him, he doubted it, because then he would have no one else to play with, unless he had Jace locked away somewhere. But his skin was red, just bursting to get out, and he couldn't pull away.

When it was finally over, Alec knew he would never look at water the same way again, and he knew that from Jonathan's smirk that this had been an intermission, of sorts. The ending of the first scene, but then, how many would there be? Would there only be two, would there be six or would there be three? Would it ever end? Alec wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he just wanted everyone to be safe again. Safer. He needed a plan, but they were all slipping from his head, scurrying away as soon as any light was cast upon them.

He didn't shower when he got back to Magnus's. He didn't do much at all. He ate, and slept, and his head was out of it. He mumbled a line about the weather that Magnus snapped at him for. He hadn't cared too much at the time. He'd probably responded, then went to sleep. Magnus was debating something when Alec went in to sleep, but it didn't really seem to matter much. He slept, and got ready for a new day. The new day came, and with it, more energy.

He was more there by the time he got back to Magnus. That night was a nice one, kind of. They were tense around each other. Not exceptionally, there was just an extra thickness in the air. Extra caution in every word or movement. He felt like he was suffocating, slowly, but he was sure that Jonathan would eventually try something of the sort and it didn't bother him as much as it should have. Magnus asked if he was okay. He just shook his head and took a cold shower, trying not to look at the still pink skin of his feet and up his ankles. The slight burns would heal, only hurting when he stood. He went to bed early that night, after his shower. He'd hardly eaten, but he didn't really want to. Maybe the next day would be better.

Sleep came easily. He was exhausted, and he slept like he hadn't had a wink in years. He dreamed like he'd never heard of the term, a blank, empty slate. He was stiff, not even completely relaxed while he was out of it. In the morning, when he woke up, the burns didn't hurt anymore but it felt wrong to talk. Not physically, it just seemed like opening his mouth to say something was too much. Like the world might shatter if he did. So he kept his words sparse, only speaking when he was addressed first. He told his mom that he'd started his patrol through a text message, and kept to his streets, his pace not fast but keeping at a constant rate. His eyes would dart around at the slightest sound that he considered suspicious, and he didn't stop at a food truck or anywhere for lunch like he usually did. He needed to keep moving, even if Jonathan only took him while he was moving. He needed to find Jace so that he could be safe again. So Jonathan wouldn't be a threat any longer, a hidden threat that only Alec could see.

He wasn't special, he never had been. That wasn't his job; he was just there to make sure that everyone else didn't die. He'd already failed that twice, maybe thrice, though he refused to believe Jace was dead. It wasn't as if he'd ever wish something like this on his siblings, but he had to wonder why him. Was it really because he was gay, and no one would care? Or was it because he was the weakest, the one who wouldn't fight well enough to do any damage? The easiest to get away with killing.

He was tired. He wanted Jonathan to stop hurting him. For once in his life, he wanted to talk to someone. But there was something inside him keeping his mouth shut about even the smallest things. He needed help, but he wasn't going to get any.

He was Alexander Lightwood. He was specifically special to no one but Magnus, who claimed he was different. But maybe he wasn't so different, with all of the time in the world spinning threads through Magnus's fingers. Magnus was older than the country they lived in. Surely, in all of that time, there were better people to fuck. To love, as they claimed for each other. Alec loved Magnus. Magnus said he loved Alec. But, like the rest of the world, was it even real? Ale didn't know. He'd have to be strong, though. He hadn't been strong long enough, he just needed more time before he could collapse and never be found again. He needed to find Jace first. Then he could slip out everyone's minds like he had a habit of doing unless it involved his he could be gone to everyone, just a shadow keeping everyone safe.

**1. the Law is hard, but it is the Law**


	4. Chapter 4 Pretend

**Hello, all! FIRST OFF:**

**WARNINGS: MAY BE A RAPE TRIGGER. There is no rape in the chapter, however, my beta pointed out to me that I should include a warning. **

**FURTHER NOTES: For the purposes of this fic, Jace's imprisonment with Jonathan has been altered for my needs. **

**Also, many thanks to my beta, TechnicolorZebra, they're very nice. And graduating, so cheers for that. I still have three years. And this summer, I will not be posting anything. Or, I shouldn't be. I'll be studying abroad in Japan, so unless that falls through, I won't be back in the States until half-through August. So, yeah, temporary hiatus, I suppose. Sorry about that. But, anyway, this chapter is a bit of a biggie. Everything is finally picking up.**

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"Rules of the society are nothing: one's conscience is the umpire."

-Madame Dudevant

* * *

BLIND Chapter 4: Pretend

Alec didn't know what to think. Pain, was a given.

His arms were about to pop out of their sockets, the twisting already causing terribly bruises that would settle only for darker colours than purple. If Jonathan bumped the rope up, one more time, the pain he was feeling would intensify in a burst and undoubtedly overwhelm him for multiple seconds, but he felt... relief, in some odd way. He also felt afraid, and the anger of betrayal that should have driven him to rage only washed over him in pastels akin to guilt. Maybe if he'd been a better Parabatai, Jace wouldn't be standing in front of him in that fire-lit room, joking with Jonathan as he absently watched Alec be tortured.

He, Jace, hadn't been there when Jonathan had first pulled Alec into the other world-a pocket in dimensions, Alec had decided. He had almost managed to fight back successfully that time, too- the black eye Jonathan sported could attest to that. But he'd been overpowered, because the part-demon was faster, stronger, and less reserved about killing. Though Alec felt that he'd become much less opposed to killing since Jonathan had first kidnapped him from the streets of New York- he would love nothing more than to shoot into Jonathan's eye sockets and puncture his brain.

He'd been shoved to the ground, Jonathan's knee on his back, and his wrists had been bound together in thick metal cuffs that dug into his skin. He couldn't see it well, but a cord had been pulled through the loop his back and his arms had made, then secured. It was attached to the ceiling, which didn't quell his boiling stomach at all.

Then Jace had walked into the room as Alec had been hoisted up, his feet just inches above the ground. Alec had looked at his brother in surprise, as if asking for help because his wrists were cutting open and the skin tearing. Jace was fine. His clothes weren't even ruffled, though they weren't what Alec had last seen him in, his hair disheveled in that way that Alec had always thought was just too sexy. There was a blackening eye that had Alec worried, but Jace had hardly spared Alec a glance before he'd started talking with Jonathan as if Alec wasn't worth his time. As if he'd found a new, better parabatai. A more evil one, as if there wasn't a bruise on his eyethat Alec couldn't help but suspect was Jonathan's fault. Maybe it wasn't even Jonathan's doing, but he pushed that thought aside as he forgot about the injury.

"Sebastian," Jace had said. "You going to be done soon? I want to go to that potions shop on Essex, the one in Massachusetts. We need to get some more chaparral, foul smelling stuff."

Jonathan had shrugged, and hoisted Alec up further from the ground, nearly popping his arms out of their sockets. All of his weight was on his shoulders and his arms, his wrists, his hands turning purple because of poor circulation. Alec had felt tears well up in his eyes as he cried out in pain, but he didn't shed them. Not in front of Jace, and certainly not in front of Jonathan. He wasn't that weak, despite the churning of his insides and the entirety of the clave saying otherwise, directly or not.

Jonathan had tugged at the rope one last time, Alec's arms straining as he bounced up, his wrists digging back into their cuffs, then a scream joining a loud popping sound as both of Alec's arms were pulled out of there they were supposed to be. Jonathan laughed as looked at the broken-limbed shadowhunter, and Jace just looked mildly interested. As if Jonathan's laughter was more important than his pained parabatai.

The best he got was a, "Won't they notice if both of his arms have popped out?", and that only served to make things worse. Jace didn't care about Alec, he was just watching out for Jonathan's skin. And in the link between the two parabatai, there was nothing wrong. Even while watching Alec's shoulder joints be pushed past their limits, the only thing Alec could feel when it came to the link was the overwhelming fear that this was really his brother.

Jonathan released the rope, and Alec grunted as he hit the cold floor, his arms hanging on to his body by only the skin. He tried to breathe steadily, regain control of the pain, but his head was twisted so he could see Jonathan's laced-up leather boots carrying the part-demon closer. He already hurt enough, he didn't need anything else.

Jonathan stopped a foot away, undoubtedly looking down at the shadowhunter he'd been tormenting. His dark hair was sweaty, matted at places and stuck to his flushed forehead. There were bags under his eyes that made his features look nearly as gaunt as a skeleton, and he'd lost weight since Jonathan had first 'tended' to him. It had been less than a week and a half, but the effects were already showing on his body, and not in bruises. It was exactly what Jonathan wanted while he was still playing around.

"Pop them back in," Jonathan grinned responding to Jace's 'won't they notice' question. "There will be bruises, but all the better. He won't be able to say where he got them."

Jace smiled, devilishly, in an expression Alec had seen enough times at his side for it to hurt. If goosebumps could have been developing on his arms, they would have been.

Jace made to move towards his parabatai, but Jonathan stopped him.

"Don't," he said. "I want the first time you touch him again to be... special."

Jace mocked hurt, holding his hand over his heart. "But all touches by me are special!"

Jonathan just rolled his eyes, and turned back to Alec. They were cold, dark, and the way he had said 'special' had been promising, in an entirely frightening way. He didn't know what it could be, and he didn't want to know. But it alluded that there would be a next time, and that he could check up on Jace, no matter his state of mind, again. He'd know Jace was safe with his attitude, his all-surrounding golden glow, only his morals and alliance changed as far as Alec could see. He wasn't physically hurt, though now he didn't know if that was better or worse.

Alec bit his lip and took it as Jonathan undid his binding, then popped both of his arms back in. An iratze was drawn on the back of his hip, and he was thrown back into some New York alley with his bow and his quiver. Jace was safe, and though Jonathan was a monster they were getting along like thick and thin. And despite all of this, that could help bring Jace back to the Institute, to his family, Alec's lips were sealed on anything related to the two and the world was tilted, spinning around the sun as if it had nothing better to do. As if nothing had changed. The world would never stop for Alec, not that he, or anyone, expected it to.

The next days were torture, and not in the conventional Jonathan way. Though maybe all of that, leaving him alone with puzzles about Jace he couldn't figure out, was just another way to taunt him. Jace was being used against him, and it looked like the golden boy himself didn't care. Maybe he was acting, but then Alec would have felt something. He would have felt fear, he would have known when Jace was lying. He always knew when Jace was lying, just like Jace always knew when he was lying. It was a two-way street, he'd thought. He was starting to doubt Jace, the boy he'd spent four years (only four years) with.

He was just trying to figure everything out, and his body still hurt so much. The grossly torn flesh on his wrists was healed completely, so were the bruises on his knees and chest from being dropped to the floor, but there were still rings of dark bruising around his shoulders. They were lightening, but not as quickly as Alec would have liked, still a purple when he'd went to bed and Magnus had seen them.

"What happened?" The warlock had exclaimed, seeing Alec pull off his shirt.

"It rained really hard." He had intended to make a better excuse, but he was tired, and that just tumbled out before anything else could. It was probably one of the worst things he could have said, they'd already had a bit of a fight about his commentary on the outside climate.

"If you don't want to tell me you don't have to," Magnus retracted, frowning as he turned away. "I'm not going to force you."

"Magnus," Alec said softly. "It's not that I don't want to tell you. I'm sorry."

Magnus turned around, his eyes not really knowing what to portray. "What am I supposed to think? You've been off lately, always talking about the weather, like you're hiding something, now these bruises and you can't talk about it? What's so bad about it?"

"It's... complicated." Alec shouldn't have said something like that. "It's so complicated and the moment I can tell you I promise I will." If that time would ever come.

Magnus sighed. "Let me heal those, then. You had better tell me what's happening as soon as you can."

Alec nodded, and let Magnus work his magic. But despite them finishing the night without screaming, when Alec left the next day he knew he'd be sleeping at the Institute that night. He and Magnus were off pace from each other, moving at different paces. Alec was keeping secrets, something he shouldn't have been doing. He was off-setting their balance. It was Jonathan's fault. He wanted to tell Magnus, even if it meant admitting he was weak. He wanted to say he'd seen Jace that his brother was safe, just fucked in the head. But he couldn't. He wanted to be with Magnus and not fight. But he couldn't, not as long as Jonathan was using him as his personal plaything.

Alec was tired when he got back from his patrol, and he'd spent the entire day hoping Jonathan would pick him up and that Jace would be okay and simultaneously dreading the same thing. His nerves had been on edge, as much as possible with how blown they were by then. He was starting to come undone. He was having trouble handling people, handling himself. He was glad to go back to the Institute at the end of the day, with one last look out to New York, giving Jonathan an extra moment to grab him, and he went inside, both relieved and disappointed.

He went to the kitchen, where he found Isabelle and Clary sitting around the table, eating take-out from the Chinese restaurant a block away. As he saw them, he was struck with guilt. He knew that Jace was safe, while they were both worrying. If he was stronger, he could have taken down Jonathan and brought Jace back.

"Hey Alec," Isabelle said as Alec opened the fridge, looking for something to eat. It was empty, of course. No one had been shopping; they were all too busy dealing with shit.

Alec sighed in frustration then nodded towards his sister. He'd have to order some food, because if he was ever going to be able to fight back against Jonathan he wouldn't be doing it on an empty stomach. He didn't have surprises packed away inside of his body like his brother. His darkening brother, but he couldn't think like that.

"There's a Clave meeting you have to be at," Isabelle said, popping a piece of broccoli into her mouth, then frowning.

"Now?" Alec asked, irritated. He didn't want to do any of that, not when he couldn't fucking say anything.

"No, four days." Isabelle said, swallowing her vegetable.

"Fine," Alec said, frowning.

"What's up?" Isabelle asked, but Alec was already gone, exiting the kitchen to go to his room.

He took a shower and went to sleep, deciding to just get something to eat at the beginning of his patrol the following day. He just wanted to fucking go to sleep, have the day over and done with. Fucking hell. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

When Jonathan had pulled him into the room, the hell, whatever it was, again the next day, he'd hoped, and expected, to see Jace again. When Jonathan had pulled down his pants he'd expected the worst, rape, he'd thought only of that and had been glad Jace wasn't there. But then out came a clamp and scissors- he'd been relieved, for a minute. He knew to be scared, but he was glad that he wouldn't be forced into being used sexually by someone who wasn't even Magnus. Someone he didn't love. He didn't think he could handle that, being taken by someone else.

He was left feeling dirty and completely wrong, overrun in the end with pain anyway. He didn't know how he'd ever explain it to Magnus, either, if the silence was ever lifted from his chest. He would probably burst into tears, and Magnus wouldn't know what to do, neither of them would.

His legs were strapped down,_ angel why was Jonathan always stronger than him_**,** and he was still wearing his pants and briefs around the knees. He was exposed, though, and Jonathan was smirking like he'd gotten a sick confirmation of something he already knew and had planned to use against Alec from the beginning. The shadowhunter had had the decency to be afraid of how it could turn out.

"You're not circumcised," Jonathan had drawled, picking up a smallish metal clamp. It looked uncomfortable, like the material would dig into the skin, and Alec swallowed, trying to wiggle a bit away from the part-demon. He didn't like where Jonathan's choice of words was leading his mind. "Most Shadowhunters aren't, though, so it's no surprise."

Jonathan walked in front of Alec, close enough that the Lightwood could feel hot breath ghosting on his face. Jonathan's gaze wandered down, and Alec was more than aware of the fact that kidnapping didn't have a deadline, a minute hand he could count down until it was all over. Not that there was a clock on any of the gray walls.

"What are you doing?" Alec asked, gritting his teeth. It was uncomfortable, having Jonathan that close. Especially with his dark eyes now on Alec's flaccid cock. His hand went down to meet his eyes, and Alec jerked as Jonathan's hand wrapped around the head of his penis, his breath speeding up as another surge of adrenaline shot through him. He bit back a whimper as Jonathan pulled forward, hooking onto his foreskin and pulling it past the point of hurting. He squeezed the toothed metal clamp down on the pulled-up foreskin, and the skin was punctured by its, albeit dull, teeth.

"Don't," Alec whispered as Jonathan pulled out the scissors. He knew what was going to happen, and this time, he knew that that the torture wasn't meant to be physical. Magnus would notice this if they got intimate. He wouldn't be able to do anything without his clothes in front of his boyfriend again. Jonathan cut it off, having to cut the skin a few times to get a good cut across the skin. Alec wished he would have at least used better scissors. Maybe he'd get tetanus and Jonathan will leave him the fuck alone, but he knows better. An iratze and the bacteria will be gone, but his foreskin won't grow back and how will he explain it to Magnus? It wasn't bleeding too much, then, and Jonathan had thrown the excess skin into a garbage can Alec didn't think much of earlier. He drew another rune on Alec that looked more familiar, on his left arm. He didn't know what it was, but it was pushed to the back of his mind as Jonathan gave him a funny look, a smirk.

Alec wanted to ask why, but he knew. He knew the motive, the secret. This wasn't about him, it was a secret one-up on the Clave that just ripped up his life. It had to happen to someone, didn't it? Better him than Isabelle, than Aline. He was just relieved to get an iratze and get out of there. He wouldn't be going back to Magnus's that night, the fighting was probably diffused but that might mean make-up sex, which he couldn't handle. Not with something like this that Magnus would notice. Something that would make him so ashamed. Jonathan, once again, got the best of him.

* * *

Riiing... Riiing...

"Hello? This is Isabelle Lightwood."

"Isabelle, it's Magnus."

"Funny, I was just thinking about calling. Do you know what's up with my brother?"

"So it's not just around me? Something's wrong."

"He was really snippy yesterday. I chalked it up to tiredness. But tonight, he looked really..."

"He hasn't been sleeping well, but I think there's more than that. He keeps talking about the weather when I ask him questions."

"He won't even speak a word to me. He just looks at me, like I did something wrong. Like he's jealous."

"That doesn't sound like something he'd normally do. But he's been strange, since just after Jace disappeared."

"That's probably part of it, Jace and Alec always used to be together when shit happened."

Magnus sighed. "Yeah. I don't know, Isabelle."

"Maybe we should talk to him."

"Let's give him a few days, see if he thaws out."

"Maybe. Don't worry Mags, he'll be fine. He always is."

* * *

He was back, again, the very next day.

"Miss me?" Alec spat. He'd never been too good at the sarcastic comments, but he could make the basics every now and then. He'd spent way too much time around Jace to not be able to, though he wanted to moreso now. And he got it, too, with Jace standing there, watching, propped up against one of the walls. He watched as Jonathan won the fight and tied up a winded Alec, not lifting a finger to help, his face nothing but indifferent towards the ordeal that they go through every time with the same outcome.

This time the room was laid out with a cheap plastic table that held several gallon bottles of water that looked rather menacing in the light of the braziers that heated the room slightly. There was a white plastic funnel next to the water, and Alec knew about this one. It was legal in Idris for a long time while it was popular in France and Spain.

Jonathan picks up a gallon of water, the clear-plastic tinted a murky white, tainted by a label that prided the brand and the nutrition facts that were being forced on everything in the stores. He pulled off the blue cap, the plastic seal becoming crooked and imperfect, a bright blue color purpled by the light, but perhaps meant to reflect the supposed color of the bleached water. Alec had never really noticed the way that the light played the room, made it more sinister, more erotic, if he would go there in his head. But the planes of Jonathan's face stood out, making him more menacing with the shadows in his hair adding depth to the scene.

Alec wondered what he looked like, trying not to be scared, trapped to a wall after failing to fight off the part demon, and not for the first time. Pathetic, he'd already assumed. Alec wondered if Jonathan ever just wanted to push his power an inch further and end him, but it wasn't the time.

Jonathan pulled his head back, his index finger and thumb coming together to pinch down Alec's nose, the other hand shoving the funnel into his mouth and quickly beginning to pour in water before Alec could spit it out. He choked, trying to spit it out, but the funnel was pushing to the back of his throat, almost hitting at his gag reflex. But the water kept coming, and he started swallowing, past the point of fullness, until he knew his guts would burst. Jonathan finished the first bottle on him, and went to get another. Alec wanted to puke. He'd already drank too much, the funnel hitting the floor as he spat it out.

Another, and another. He knew that he was probably crying, just to get of the water somehow, and he'd have to pee soon. He was so bloated, it was too much liquid. Then, Jace walked over and hit him. He hit him in the stomach, over and over, it only took four or five times before Jace stepped out of the way and Alec puked all the water up on the floor and down his own front side. Jonathan stepped in, then, and they did it all over again. They did it again and again, until Alec couldn't speak if he'd wanted to, his tongue lolling and his throat a harsh mess, broken down a bit by all of the abuse.

But that last time, Jace gave him an iratze, crooked just like his always were, then pecked at his lips, smirking and saying that he couldn't wait for 'next time,' whatever exactly that meant. It chilled Alec, that Jace had kissed him, and that there would be a next time. There was a twisted bit of satisfaction; Jace kissed him, and relief that he'd get to check up on Jace. Even if this Jace was everything he could have feared his brother would become, twisted, somehow, by Jonathan's evil.

He was sent back to the real world, the place where his pain was all make-believe. A place where Jonathan and Jace were still untouchable and his relationship with Magnus was falling to shambles. A place with dirty roads leading places he might be safe in, places he might be shunned in. They might lead to his home, though he was too tired to think about if it was still warm enough for that title. He went home, slowly, his weight heavy from the events of the day, all the excess water still in him, his front still soaked in his own vomit, a very watery substance combined with disgusting bits of his water pipes.

He went home, to Magnus. He said he was sorry, though he wasn't exactly sure what for. For the kiss, for being so strange lately. For not being able to talk, for not being able to help. For letting Jonathan get the better of him, again. For wishing Magnus could just know, automatically understand, like in fairy tales he'd dissected in his classes. He meant it, and Magnus knew it. He looked up from the script that was frustrating him so much, and they talked about that over food Magnus had been ordered, Alec mostly listening but chipping in his two cents when called for. They kept off of Alec's day, of Alec as a subject, and things went well.

Alec was floating, or at least not drowning (the irony, he couldn't help but think) under his own weight. He was working towards happiness, though after every laugh he was silenced by his own thoughts, he was getting better, being with Magnus. Talking. Being human, just for a while, then he'd be a shadowhunter again. He was sure the rest of the night would run smoothly, then a kiss ran too long.

Hot fingers grasped at hair, breathing became heavier, Magnus had rigged a playlist to start playing smooth Jazz when it sensed they could be in that mood (when he'd done that, Alec had no idea, maybe he'd gotten so fed up with the script and needed a break), and hips began to migrate towards each other. Their bodies were pressed together, and they were enjoying it, the heat nice and searing. They were put together, like pieces, though they didn't fit perfectly, it was okay. There was always one awkward limb when they had sex that they never knew what to do with.

Magnus lost his shirt, then Alec, and Magnus's hands had just finished pulling down his pants zipper when Alec realized exactly what was going on and came back to Earth, his thoughts of the previous days catching up with him. He remembered what Seb-Jonathan had done, and started shaking like a leaf in the wind of a storm as images flashed in front of his eyes. He tensed before leaping off their couch, this time a blue one, running to the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

He knew it was immature and stupid, but when Magnus came knocking, he didn't answer any of his questions. He didn't say he was alright, he didn't leave the bathroom. He couldn't see Magnus, couldn't speak, couldn't let Magnus see him as he tried as best as he could not to cry. That time, Jonathan had really done a number, all of the secrets Alec was being forced to keep clashing around in his head like an orchestra with each section playing a different song, the first seats all leading separate beats.

He sat in the shower, pulled the glazed glass door shut and just pretended he was alone with himself, rocking, then paralyzed by an wrecked engine of thought, his knees squeezed to his chest, then bruised as he tried to stretch out suddenly as an idea led him to a violent recoil then expansion of a reaction, disgust. At himself, Jonathan, Jace, everyone. Isabelle hit his thoughts, Clary, Magnus, Maryse, Robert, Max. They all are overwhelming presences so suddenly, the mosquito net that usually works can't repel their usual attacks and all he wants is for them to leave him alone. Why won't they, why won't they?

Is all that's he'd tried not enough, was he still the closeted boy everyone half-hated? Why wasn't he the background noise anymore, the steady beat that gets lost in the rest of the song? Why was his head suddenly a neon crayon, not one of the boring, ignored, dull colors? Why was all that had been accumulating crashing down on him now, why was he crying- angel how pathetic was that how fucking disgraceful he might as well just be the thing everyone uses and mangles and takes blows at-he couldn't think like that, but he was, fuck.

He fell asleep at some point, there was no clock in the bathroom, his feet, ankles, knees and calves all bruised to some degree, his wrists from hitting them against the floor and the wall at one point, his nails chewed to just stubs. He was losing it, all over Magnus's shower floor. He didn't remember falling asleep, but when he awoke he wished it could have lasted forever.


	5. Chapter 5 Context

_'m back from Japan, guys! this has been beta'd by technicolorzebra, but the mistakes are mine! if hadn't had this written before left would have never gotten it done... Holy crap. Sorry it's shorter. f you're interested, now have a tumblr about Giraffes. giraffeateyou with the dot tumblr dot com. t's pretty great._

_WARNING: um like last chapter forced sexual encouneters. Uh oh things get pretty intense though._

**BLIND Chapter 5**

**"Context"**

_"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."_

_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

When Alec woke up, his legs and hips hurt, his fingers were cracked up, with dried blood crusting his tips and around the nails. His shoulders and back hurt, ached, and his exhaustion had reached a new high. Or, rather, low. Despite the tugging pain of an approaching headache and the dryness in his eyes that spoke of sleep deprivation and dehydration, he knew he wouldn't be falling back into slumber. He had jerked awake, terrified of a danger he couldn't quite place and was having trouble shaking off. He put his hand to his face, and realized it was an awkward mix of sticky and crusty. It was as if tears had dried there, and his mind went back to the night before, placing an understanding in his head. The night before.

Fuck. Magnus.

Alec had left him, the night before. He'd left him shirtless and confused, half hard. He'd run into the bathroom and closed himself down, cried and cried and found that he couldn't stop. Magnus probably felt like shit, being left like that. Alec would, if their positions were reversed and Alec had been the one knocking on the door, trying to help but being ignored like he meant nothing. He would have been freaking out, concerned, and his head would be running through the countless possibilities, thinking up any flaw he could conjure, scenarios that could lead to the precarious situation they were in.

Alec stepped out of the shower, catching his reflection in the mirror that covered the wall the sinks were placed on. Magnus tended to spend a good chunk of time in there, when things were, not good, but better. There were little and big pots of glitter and eyeshadow and glosses, foundation, whatever the makeup industry made, brushes and eyepencils and mascara wands on one side of the sink, stacked up but still running over to the other side quite a bit, but it didn't matter, because all that was there were their toothbrushes and Alec's deoderant. Normal things, for them. But the bags under Alec's eyes, the darkness, the frailty his usually sturdy body possessed, was anything but the typical clutter around the sink. He was changing, beginning to decay in the one place, with Magnus, where he'd thought things would get better. Not that Magnus had anything to do with it, he thought, with a sting of guilt sitting in his gut. He shouldn't blame the warlock for his problems, no matter how easy it would be.

With a sigh, he opened the bathroom door to a quiet apartment. There was a light coming from behind the willowy curtains on the windows, and it wasn't the tinted orange-yellow popcorn butter color of the streetlamps, but the glare of sunlight the curtains made calm. Alec was late for his patrol, he knew immediately. It didn't really matter. The only one that checked in with him was himself, anyway. He didn't really have to worry about finding Jace, did he? His parabatai wasn't hurt, beside that one bruise that mirrored Jonathan's. It kind of nagged Alec, that one bruise, added worry to all of the stress, the weight, he was under. Maybe Alec should just go out for his patrol, get picked up by Jonathan. He'd get confirmation that his brother was alive and an hour of pain that would last so much longer in his head. They never did take too long, but it was impossibly, agonizingly longer for Alec.

He should really have been doing that, not standing still and observing Magnus at the island they had in their kitchen (that day, who knew what it would be like the next day), nursing a coffee stained mug that probably once held the black caffeine-rich substance and a magazine that was still flipped on the first page.

As soon as Alec stepped into the room properly, Magnus closed the magazine in front of him, setting down the mug. He was waiting for Alec, then.

Gathering himself for what seemed like far too many times, Alec moved slowly to make himself a cup of coffee, the machine completely empty. Magnus had been up a while, but Alec didn't comment, he didn't have the right to, as he filled the filter up with water, using Magnus's grinds. The methodic, slow but certain, drip started after Alec had collected himself a cup to put next to the machine.

The glass pot was half full of the dark substance when Magnus spoke, breaking the heavy tension of their silence. It was a simple question, one that had probably been asked to other people before, lots of them, but it still popped Alec's dying heart strings.

"Are you cheating on me?"

Simple, but filled with implications. Magnus didn't trust Alec (Alec wouldn't trust Alec at this point either, so why should he?), didn't trust that the off behavior, the fights Alec couldn't help but to keep starting, hadn't culminated into something dramatic. He didn't trust that it was a problem between them, that it was Alec who was being defective.

In a way, though, it was true. He wasn't being nice, he wasn't being a proper lover. But he was so stressed, and so tired, and fraying all around the edges. He was falling apart. Bits of him were being left in the cold, but sometimes hot, cement basement-modeled room, like he would leave bits of himself with another person he loved, or was screwing, or whatever Magnus thought.

Maybe it was stupid, or childish, but Alec laughed out loud. He'd had enough of trying to be an adult, and maybe it showed in his voice. He wasn't going to be perfect, he'd never promised that. What else was there to do but laugh? It was his life, and it was falling apart.

"No, I'm not cheating on you," Alec said, desperate chuckles clearing away. "It's just something in the weather." He might as well have resigned to his fate of talking about the _fucking_ weather. As always.

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?" Magnus asked, the power of hundreds of years seeping into his voice. "Lately, all you seem to talk about is the weather. As if it bloody _means_ something!"

Alec felt a pull in his feet, then, with only a half understandable desire to walk out of the door and to the nearest alley and- "I can't say anything else!"

Magnus grunted. "So you can't talk to me? When have I not been there to talk to you, Alec." It was bitter, but not full of rage or power. It just was, weak and small, clinging on the edge of desperate.

Alec took a deep breath, trying to call himself. Trying to convince his burning feet not to walk away. It wasn't Magnus's fault. It was Jonathan's fault for… who was he kidding? It was his fault, for being weaker, for not killing a demon until he was an adult. He was to blame for not fighting off Jonathan, for not protecting Max, and now Jace.

"Magnus… I'm sorry. I'm not seeing anyone else. I'm just having some… Things aren't going my way. I can't say anything about it, and I'm sorry I have to keep you in the dark about it but it's not for lack of trying I just… fuck, I love you, Magnus. I hope that's enough for now."

Magnus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don't even know what that means."

"I'm sorry," Alec apologized again, walking over to the warlock. He leaned forward to give him a peck on the lips, but Magnus shifted so slightly so that he hit his cheek.

Alec pulled back, the message coldly clear. He'd lost his greatest ally, and that cracking sound was just the chinks in his heart moving out of key, damaging.

"We'll talk more tonight. You have work to do, and so do I."

He nodded, leaving with that, in his crumpled clothes from the day before. He closed the door, the rift between them growing at an alarming rate. He left with a bad taste in his mouth and his feet burning for him to go. There was guilt eating at his stomach but he just kept walking to his patrol areas, distracted from Jonathan's chilling promise of what would happen the next time he had Alec in his clutches. Really, he should have been more careful. He should have stayed home, with Magnus, where his heart was. He shouldn't have followed the yearning in his legs, and he shouldn't have gone on patrol that day. He should have known it would be the beginning of the end, that it'd ruin what he had left of everything.

But how could he have ever known that it would be the worst day of his life?

* * *

Alec felt like a wanderer, sometimes, when he was on patrol. Just another invisible (literally) face in a crowd of millions. He could let his mind rehash everything, while his body would go through the motions. He could be wrapped up in himself, or get distracted by a street performer, the pavement and the mundies walking on it. He used to take walks around the city sometime, when he didn't feel like doing much. When he needed to think with no thought, or just be.

But, you could only wander for so long before you were lost—or worse, found. Alec was found at the tail end of his patrol that day, and his feet had stopped burning with the desire to be in one specific place. He was already on his way to the apartment for a discussion he knew would be exhausting and probably involve a bit of yelling.

He wasn't taking any alleyways, and that was where he was usually picked up (because he was a _coward_ who couldn't fight back and win, but he wasn't Jace, he knew his limits), he was staying in the sightline of people he was invisible to. Not exactly a cover. But he could try, couldn't he? Maybe he should just stop and let himself slip… suddenly, he was doing just that. Jerking away from the street he found himself derailed from his path home, his arms quickly captured and tied in front of him, his head bounding off of a (sadly familiar) gray wall that he was quickly completely pressed against, disoriented from the blow to his head.

Seb- Jonathan was there, pushing his arms above his head and keeping him pinned with the rest of his body. There was a pair of pliers in his hand, which were quickly shoved into the dark haired man's mouth. He'd only just begun to register the taste of the steel alloy, the metallic tinge and smooth surface before it'd latched on to one of his molars. It took just two pulls, painful but quick, for Alec's mouth to be flooded with blood and missing a tooth, another tooth loose, pulling up in the back.

He spit out as much of the blood as he could, swallowing some of it, but trying to get rid of the globs of uprooted flesh trying to force their way under his tongue to the bottom of his was disgusting, and it hurt, but it felt like a paper cut compared to what he was used to (and he'd gotten many paper cuts over the years). It was, however, only the prelude to his visit.

Looking at the bloody tooth in Se-_Jonathan_'s pliers, he felt a surge of twisted, misplaced, excitement. Maybe this was a way for him to show that there was something wrong. Maybe he could use it to point Magnus in the direction of foul play. But then there'd be question, like what else had happened. It hadn't been… he wouldn't be able to say it.

Even if he could talk, he wouldn't really want to say too much. But it would be better if he could get help. He'd mention Jace as little as possible, not get him into trouble. It's not Jace's fault, anyway. Not really… He'd have to mention Jace and what happened to his foreskin and why he was falling apart at the seams and splintering inside. His heart sunk. He'd never get through this with both his and Jace's prides intact. But fuck it, he thought, his eyes meeting Jonathan's, courage slipping into place. He was going to make sure Jonathan payed for what he'd done to him. Jace… He'd have to figure that out along the way.

He finally had proof, that didn't involve his dick, in a little bloody hole where a tooth used to be. He couldn't help a small smile, but it was still the biggest he'd done in a while, his teeth coated in blood and red smeared down his chin. He would get them caught, and he knew that revenge would be a meal he would enjoy. He briefly went through the different ways he could torture Jonathan to the brink of death before he realized how bad that sounded. That his sanity might have had a brittle hold on planet Shadowhunter.

"You're happy, are you?" The part demon smirked, wiping blood from his victim with a rag from his back pocket. "I don't know if you'll be smiling much longer. Jace and I will be working with you all night on a job I doubt you'll ever forget, no matter how much you want to."

The platinum-hared killer secured Alec's wrists to a hook at just the perfect level then stepped back, and Alec noticed Jace next to him for the first time. The two Jonathan's made eye contact, the demonic one patting the angelic on the shoulder before turning to look at Alec one last time before exiting to wait for his turn.

"You should be happy. I know how much you've always wanted it. Enjoy, gay boy."

There was the sound of a Jonathan walking up a set of stairs Alec couldn't quite see and the shutting of a door. Alec felt his mind go into hyperdrive as dread wrapped itself through his body, weaving into his innards.

Jace didn't hesitate, as soon as the door closed. He moved close and claimed Alec's lips (_those are Magnus's Jace you know this why are you_). There was a camera rolling, he could see it set up on a tripod over Jace's shoulder. The same one used when Alec had been forced to kill the werewolf.

Alec felt his throat closing up, he was so afraid and he wanted didn't want this, but he wasn't winning. He tried to fight back, fought with everything he had, tried so_ hard_, but his _parabatai_ only managed to get closer to him. He only managed to get more clothes ripped open and off. He was crying, begging for it to stop, kicking and shoving his weight around (_and he had Magnus, why was this happening how could Jace do this to him those claims of cheating would be true now, but he didn't cheat, but what if Magnus didn't understand nothing makes sense can't it all just go away I want to be with Magnus, watching a movie, not being forced open by Jace this can't happen it can't it can't it can't_). It was hazy, unclean, the actual events, because it couldn't be Jace doing this to him and it couldn't be happening. Not only was his best friend trying, and about to be succeeding, in raping him, but Alec was a guy. Rape wasn't supposed to happen to guys, he never really heard about it. When people said rape it meant women, in shadowhunter society. In most societies. It must have been his other punishment, karma, for being fucking gay. It wasn't his fault! It only made him cry more, sob, because he couldn't believe this was about to happen.

"Jace, stop, please!"

His pants were gone, rough hands pulling up his naked hips. A dick, Jace's, pressing against his bottom.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, Jace, no! Stop it! Fuck, please, stop!"

Jace was smiling, but this wasn't the Jace that Alec knew. His_ parabatai_ would never do this. His parabatai was gone. Alec was trying to kick the blond away, to no avail. He was lowered by unyielding hand, crying out, onto Jace's cock. He screamed as Jace penetrated his first sphincter, his anal cavity nearly completely unprepared. He hadn't had sex in… a week, though it felt like longer, and it showed. He wasn't stretched out, but he didn't have a choice. And it hurt when he was prepared… He couldn't quite describe how bad it felt, fighting every bit of the way. He was being breached on more than one level, in multiple ways and he was trying to pull the cord tied around his collapsed heart. It was like he was being touched in every once-okay way and he was melting under his body's own terror, lack of control. Jace was moving too soon, too fast, pounding into him without relent.

It was then, with his pants shoved somewhere gone and blood steadily dripping from his raped anus that he realized that he could never talk about this. This hell, it would be his.

He wished it had stopped when Jace had finally come, but then Sebasti-Jona—fuck it, Sebastian, was between his legs with toys, and later, his own cock to please. Then there were more toys, and Jace was back again. His phone was ringing, somewhere, but it didn't matter.

Every thing, every sound, every move seemed to echo itself in Alec's head. It was slower, glazed, muddled, and Alec wasn't sure when he went from being present, to hiding in himself, to being a useless, broken, piece of fucking shit. Maybe it was when the hair curler—heated and ready to scorch his skin—had been shoved into him, burning all of his wounds and cuts closed. Or maybe it was when his _parabatai_ had finished with him for the second time and said, as he'd never forget, how's Clary? He was done. He was so, so done. He didn't care. He wanted to die. He wanted to have been gone years ago. The embarrassment, the pain. He'd _let someone else do that to him_.

What would Magnus think? How would he ever face anyone again? Why had this happened to him? Why? He just wanted to know what he'd done, but then, he didn't. He was a fuck up, and he really should have been gone by now. Why wasn't he? He'd stopped crying, stopped fighting. He was just lying there. He'd never really seen it before, besides in nightmares or when he fought the Greater Demon, but he saw images of his body, mangled and destroyed, glassy-eyed and dead. This time, though, he _wished_ for it.

There were words, again, echoing again, somewhere in his head where he couldn't hear them. Maybe there was something important, but he didn't know. He'd been written on with a stele, he recalled, been runed, but it had been a long time since he'd stopped feeling the pain, physically and otherwise, what seemed to be days ago.

He'd been dropped in an alley, his pants back on and his things about him, covered in a glamour awaiting the morning glow of the sun he was shaded from. He fell asleep, or his eyes closed (who could really tell?) and the next thing he knew it was late in the day and his phone had been blown up with messages and calls because no one had seen him and he was late to a meeting for some shit or other.

He called a taxi to the institute, unglamoured and no doubt looking crazy and exhausted and not giving a fuck to the driver. A lot of the messages were angry, and one concerned, and Isabelle wanted him to spy on the meeting for her and then 'spill', then she'd beat him until he'd tell her what was going on with Magnus and why he hadn't been, well, _anywhere_ the night before. They were talking to each other now, it seemed, comparing. It didn't matter. Alec'd already sunk so low. He didn't care.

Maybe he should. Care, that was. He just wanted it all over with and forgotten. He didn't want to go to the meeting, but after lying in the alley with all of his comrades in filth he decided he needed to leave. Sitting there like that wasn't going to change anything, for better or worse. As much as he felt like shit, helpless, he knew that it might not be the end. If he decided to slit his throat, there were plenty of weapons in the institute. He could try, maybe, to get one. He had little hope, his depression quickly turning to despair, but he could try and wade through life, maybe. It didn't matter. He was putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to topple. He had to forget. As if he'd let himself. As if they'd _let_ him, his brother and that monster.

He still had Magnus, maybe, even if the warlock was still mad at him. The funny, sweet party animal he was in love with. Even if he'd cheated, he hadn't wanted it, and maybe he'd be forgiven. Did rape count? Alec knew it depended on the century but he wasn't sure about that one. He hoped not, though what little he'd seen of Mundie Rape Culture he knew it would likely be considered his fault. It was similar, if not the same, to the way Nephilim treated it.

He was damaged goods. He could only hope that his warlock still wanted him, wasn't repulsed. If he ever found out. What was Alec worried about? He couldn't tell anyone. The only proof he had was a lot of pain, his slow-healing limp and burns running all through him. It would convince, probably.

He didn't care. He should, he knew, and he was kind of trying, but sitting in a yellow cab not feeling pain he knew was there surrounded by a sea of other yellow and checkered cabs he didn't.

Caring was not for people who'd been raped by objects, people and words, all night.


End file.
